Hospitals
by Dia Newman
Summary: "In this world we have one life. There are many different ways we can use it, but sometimes our paths are predetermined. Sometimes we don't get a say in how we live our lives." When a volunteer can always make a difference. (Oneshot for Hope-Hikari's birthday. M for all the triggers. Hurt/Comfort/Tragedy/Friendship)


**For Hope-Hikari: Happy sixteenth! **

_**Prompt taken from Tumblr**_

_**I'm using American-styled English. **_

_**Warning: Abuse, rape, bullying, PSTD, a-lot-of-things-if-you're-depressed-please-don't-read**_

* * *

I was in a hospital. I couldn't remember how long I had been there, but I was just _there_. It was all a blur. The faces, the voices, the pills, the meals. The only thing that wasn't was my voice. I knew I was being difficult, but what other choice did I have? I was raised to be quiet. To not speak. To not voice my opinions. To be a silent, voiceless, submissive doll. That was always the choice between life and death. That was the choice between more pain imaginable than as little pain as possible.

I grew up in an abusive home. My mother shot herself when I was four from depression. I remember it all too clearly. Who couldn't? Especially when your birthday also marks the death of a suicidal parent? I don't remember much from her, but I do remember waking up to a gunshot very clearly, I remember the absolute fear that rang through me. I remember silently sliding out of bed and slithering into the hall. I walked into the kitchen and lo behold, my mother was dead in a pool of her own blood.

I had never celebrated my birthday after that.

Life after that became hell. Dad was already an abusive asshole, but it only intensified. The next ten years of my life were absolute hell. I can't say it was a blur. It was anything but that. Between the beatings, I struggled to fit into social life at school. There was constant bullying. I was pushed down stairs, beaten up after school (and if you think I'm lying, tell me that next time you start middle school.) I was blamed for my mother's death. If you don't think it hurts, you are sorely mistaken. It got to the point where I was a human robot. I was the body of a human and the mind of a robot. I couldn't feel anymore.

On my thirteenth birthday my present was losing my virginity. I came home like usual (but, God, if I had known that my dad actually remembered I would have ran away), snuck into my bedroom, and did my homework before my dad came home. I was lucky; I had managed to cook dinner before Dad stumbled through the doors. He came in, yelled at me, called me a multitude of names, hurt me, but what I didn't expect was him cupping my chin in his hand and dragging me to his bedroom, whispering over and over _If you don't struggle I won't hurt you._

I was halfway through my fourteenth year when CPS, or Child Protection Services, came through with the police. I was told to gather any possessions I wanted or needed (which didn't consist of much. My clothes and a necklace from my mother.) There I went to a hospital, where I basically had to strip so they could look at all my bruises and scars to make sure I didn't add to my collection. After that, I was questioned. I had shut down by then. I had stopped responding to things. My stuff was searched and the things that were deemed safe were placed in my room. I was told I was going to stay there until my trauma was sorted out.

I stayed in that hospital well after my fifteenth birthday. I was forced to eat, they had to bathe me, everything. The only thing I did on my own was use the bathroom, and that was when no one was around. That was the only motivation I had. It's pathetic, I know, but I was doll by then.

" . . . is who you will be volunteering with. Her name is Yellow. She was brought in a few months back due to trauma and she hasn't spoken to anyone." I heard a lady say. "We were hoping maybe someone besides a doctor, nurse, or patient could help. She can be very difficult, so we thank you for helping. Yellow is right in here." I stared at the ceiling as the door opened. I heard two sets of footsteps. "I hope you understand Red, but due to rules and her past we will need to keep the door open."

"Whatever makes her happy," a deep male voice replied cheerfully. I heard the lady leave, then a chair was pulled up next to my bed.

"Hello, Yellow. My name's Red Kasai. It's nice to meet you!" I didn't move. I blinked in response. Like I hadn't heard the nurse. "I'm turning seventeen in a month. I just enrolled in Julius High." That's where I would have gone. "I moved here from a different state, and I heard about volunteering and it seemed fun. So far it has!" So, he doesn't know who I am? That's a relief. "I actually brought a book to read to you if you don't mind." I closed my eyes for about three seconds, then opened them. Hopefully he got that it meant I didn't mind. I didn't know. But I heard the turning of the pages and then, "It's called, _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_." And he read.

We had come up with this communication of sorts where when I closed my eyes for three seconds it meant _yes_ but when I closed my eyes for five seconds it meant _no_. It was a lot less confusing. Red had even asked me several questions that could be answered by this method.

_Are you okay?_

Yes.

_Are you in pain?_

No.

_The nurse told be about your story. If I had lived here, I would have tried to stop the bullies —_

No.

_No?_

No.

Red had remained silent after that. Shortly after he had left. That was the second day.

It took about three visits for him to finish the book. Each visit I learned something new. He was very animated and could even get my lips to twitch into a smile sometimes. When he walked out of my room, I found him to be extremely tall, he looked sporty, and his hair was messy and black. He was interesting. Red was unperturbed by my lack of speech, and instead took it in stride. At the end of _Sorcerer's Stone_, I turned my head and faced Red with a smile. The raven haired teen seemed excited at my acknowledgement. Even so, he knew he was the first and couldn't mask his surprise. He looked thrilled nonetheless. From this, I could see more about him. There was a long scar on his cheek, his physique's literally ripped, and his beautiful scarlet eyes were lit up. My hands itched to paint the lovely colors, which shocked me; I hadn't had the urge to do anything for a long while.

"Do you want me to bring the second book tomorrow?" Red asked eagerly.

On the fourth day, before Red came I was taken to bathe. I don't know what compelled me, but when they brought the wheelchair in to wheel me to the shower I got up, dug through my stuff, and grabbed some nice clothes and my soap that actually smelled nice. The nurse was surprised that I did that. "Are you okay?" She had asked. I made no hint that I had heard her. Instead I marched my way to the bathroom and for the first time in months, I showered myself. After I went back to my room and laid down like I always had, offering no other signs of acknowledgement. The meeting was delayed though because of it. Red had stood in my door frame as the doctor spoke to me, asking questions. My silence frustrated the man, but I didn't even blink for him.

"Why?"

That was the question Red asked once the doctor was out of earshot. _Why?_ Why, why, why, why, why? That was a prominent question. _Why_ did I have my parents? _Why_ did my dad abuse me? _Why _was the man whom I shared blood with rape me? It was an odd question, wasn't it? It was often asked but almost never answered.

I didn't even have the sense to shrug.

Red started high school three weeks later. So did the football season. He still came everyday, but most of the time he would pop in for five minutes to make sure I was okay and to show that he was okay — well mostly okay, anyway. Because of the brute force of the game with all the tackling and sprinting and whatnot.

The weeks wore on and visits became sparse because of games and practices. I found myself lonely. I was still visited by other patients and doctors, but I realized what the feeling was. I missed _Red_. It was such a longing feeling it pained me. I wanted to cry. I didn't, though, because there was no need to. Why should I cry?

There was the question, again.

"Hey, Yellow, wake up." I opened my eyes from my nap. My long hair was a mess, I was curled up under my blankets on my side, and Red was there. An older woman sat beside him, smiling. I stared at them with confusion and stony silence. My eyes wandered to the white tags clipped to their shirts that read _VISITORS_. Red cleared his throat, "Yellow, this is my mother. Mom, this is Yellow. I got special permission to bring Mom here."

"Hello, Yellow, I'm Marissa!" The woman — Marissa — beamed at me. "But I go by Mari. Red has told me _all_ about you."

Red blushed, "Mom!"

"Oh don't worry dear," Marissa laughed and ruffled her son's already messy hair. "I won't spill all of your secrets. Not yet, anyway, but I'll bring the baby pictures next time." The loving, playful tone in the older woman's voice was enough to bring a small smile to my face. Red's amused eyes glanced towards me and his smile grew, but it almost immediately went sullen. Mari calmed down. She was frowning too. I was confused.

"I heard," Red broke the depressing silence, "people talking about you at school."

No.

Oh, please no.

"You seem to be a big topic. I, well, I didn't tell them I volunteered for you. Mom is the only one that knows, actually. But I asked them what your past was."

I could feel the tears building up. I blinked slowly. My throat was burning, closing in on itself. I wanted to scream and run away from here. I wanted to find a secluded area surrounded by nature where none of my past — the abuse, the rape, the bullying, the rumors, everything — could find me and I could find who I really am without the judgment.

"I want you to know that that is all I know about you, but I'm not going to believe their side. I do know that some of the things they said we're true. Just not the whole truth." He sighed. "They told me your mother committed suicide on your fourth birthday. Your father abused you and — I found this out from my best friend — most kids bullied you. Your father raped you as well. My classmates they — they said that your father was right and you deserved it."

Marissa gave a small smile, "Do you know what day of the week it is?"

I didn't. I closed my eyes and Red translated.

"It's a little after noon and it's Wednesday." That didn't make sense. Red had school.

"Red punched someone in the face after they made snide comments about you. He's been suspended for three days. That's why I'm here — I wanted to meet the girl who meant so much to my son that he would give up some of his education and his spot on his sports team for." Before I could even comprehend the sheer _meaning _behind what he did, she continued. "Red told me what they said — saying you were at fault for being raped. He isn't in trouble any more because of that." A sad look settled in her eyes and she gazed at her son, "I don't know who Red's father is. I was raped and was left pregnant and scared. I remember it clearly. My mother was there with me every step of the way. I detested the being inside of me all through my pregnancy. My life's plan was destroyed because some man decided me to be his victim. But let me tell you, the second I heard Red crying I was in love." Mari ruffled Red's hair. "He's the best thing in my life. I wouldn't give him up for the world." Her eyes set back on me, "There's a reason I told you this. You're much younger than I was, but I assure you: you can take your past and build up from it. You've already survived this long — you can do anything . . . and when you get out of here . . . I wouldn't hesitate to open my house up to you."

I think that was the first step.

* * *

Thanksgiving passed without incident. I showed more signs of coming back. I would nod at the staff or shake my head. I still didn't leave my room much or talk. December came with loads of snow and festivities. The staff started to put up safe decorations and the Christmas stations on full blast. Marissa, despite me not wanting her to waste anything on me, bought me new clothes. Red cheerfully showed up with his mother, his arms laden with bags. They had me try on the clothes. I had to give her credit; those fit a lot nicer than my old clothes. My old clothes were either too big or too small.

One of the biggest questions on my mind had been: _Where will I go after I am released from the hospital? _My visit here was already being paid by the money in Dad's bank account but that wasn't going to last forever. I didn't even know how much was in there to begin with. All of my relatives were either deceased, jailed, hospitalized, or had removed my little family from the tree, so going there was an option. It led me back to what Marissa said: _My house is always open to you._ I didn't want to seem like a leech. I didn't even know how families were supposed to work. But I was still a minor and I had to go _somewhere_.

That topic weighed heavily on my mind on Christmas Eve. That's when the doctor knocked on my door. It was late afternoon, it was dark out. I was sitting at my desk, staring out the window when she put a hand on my shoulder. I didn't even move.

"It's beautiful out, huh?" It was, but I just gave a small nod. "How would you like to go outside?" That's when I looked at her. Patients were generally not allowed to go outside during the end of fall and winter months. She sighed. "Yellow all of your relatives are dead or, in your case, your father is in prison for forty years. You are an orphan. The boy who's been volunteering with you—Red, I believe—his mother has offered to adopt you. Or at least take care of you until you are eighteen. It would be much similar then entering you into the foster care system. And with your past I'm not sure that would be allowed."

Why was she saying all of this? "Ms. Kasai has requested to be allowed to take you home for Christmas. We've inspected her, her house, her job, and you are allowed to go. She's coming to pick you up later." She was? This was too much—I definitely didn't want to _impose_ on them. "Let's get you packed." Wordlessly, I got up and helped the woman (Doctor Laura Miles is what her tag said) pack my essentials for two or three nights in a small paper bag. That's when Red made an appearance.

He was smiling. His hair was a clumpy mess and he wore a thick coat over his clothes. "You ready? Mom's signing the papers right now. Then I get to amaze you with my driving skills." I nodded and fear surged through me. I hadn't left this hospital in a year and now . . . I was leaving. But what did I have to lose? "I found a coat for you, too. It's really old but it's clean. Come here." Without hesitation, I walked over to Red. He unzipped his jacket and pulled a wad of cloth out. First he wrapped a scarf around my head, "For your ears." Then he reached around me with a black wool coat and set it on my shoulders. Careful to not touch me in any unwanted way, Red buttoned up the top button. "There! I also have gloves if you want them." I nodded and slid my arms through the sleeves. After that I fumbled with the buttons and turned to the doctor. She smiled, handed me the bag, and led us out.

Marissa chatted aimlessly as we walked out of the hospital. I couldn't help but notice the stares of the other patients. I was embarrassed. I pulled down the scarf over my eyes and grabbed Red's sleeve. He paused to look at me. He hesitantly wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me the rest of the way put.

Their truck was a monster. It was red. It was loud. It was monstrous. I was too short to even to try and climb in. "I'm going to have to pick you up, is that alright?" Red asked. I nodded. I knew why he was cautious but I was fine. I nodded and he picked me up by the waist and sat me in there. After that, he gracefully climbed into the driver's seat. He leaned over and grabbed Marissa's hand and pulled her in. "Mom, considering this is your truck, you should be able to get in by yourself."

"You know the second you're out of highschool you're taking it to college." Marissa swatted his arm as she buckled in.

Red turned around, grinning, "You ready? I like to go dangerous." With a gulp, I tightened my grip on the belt and nodded. Then he revved up the truck.

He was a spectacular driver despite his claims. It was weird going back through the city I was born in. I knew all the streets by heart but there were subtle differences from the time I was away. New signs were put in, traffic lights were changed, old roads were repaved. It was odd. Teenagers were outside gas stations, not so subtly smoking and drinking. "If you find yourself uncomfortable, just tell me or Mom. Our top priority is you."

That was the second step, I believe.

* * *

Red helped me out of the truck and grabbed my bag. Marissa spoke amiably as we walked into the house. "Every year we cook a feast. Red is actually a better cook than I am, and I went to college on a cooking scholarship. Must have gotten that from me." She let out a hearty laugh. "Red, could you be a dear and show Yellow to her room?"

"Got it, Mom." Red smiled at me and said, "The bedrooms are upstairs. Come on, Yellow." We trudged up the stairs in a calm silence. Red didn't seem to be in any rush as pointed out a legion of pictures that lined the wall. He gave a brief summary of the stories behind them. It was interesting to me. Red and I grew up in similar homes, parent-wise. Despite that my mother died when I was four, she was rarely in the house. She was out a lot, working and supporting my family. Dad didn't have a steady job. In fact, he was usually fired within the first few months of his job because he would go to work completely drunk. I grew up with a single parent, the second parent dying when I was young, and so did Red.

As we dragged ourselves up the stairs, he told me. His second mother, his grandmother, died when he was six. He, too, suffered the loss of a loved one when he was just a child.

It was a toying thought. That with how similar we were, yet because of a mere _choice_ we grew up in completely different worlds.

All because our parents were opposites.

If Red noticed it, he didn't give the slightest hint. "Right this way," his deep tenor rang through the hall as he opened up a door on the left. "Ladies first." I gave a small smile in thanks and stepped into the room. It was big (to me at least) and had a queen sized bed pushed against the wall. A blue quilt was spread over the top, snugly fit into the corners. I turned around and smiled.

"You like it?" Red seemed happy by this fact. "That's good!" He gave me a few seconds of privacy to put my clothes into the dresser. Then, "Okay Yellow! What do you want to do?" I shrugged. "Hm . . . do you want to watch a movie?" I shrugged but nodded. I felt like a pest. "This way to the living room!" Red gently took the crook of my arm and led me down the stairs. He did his best to make me comfortable (to the point I felt awkward) and we sat on the couch. I didn't even know what movie we were watching, but I didn't really care.

"Yellow . . . I genuinely hope that one day, even in this screwed up, crazy world . . . I hope you find something worth living for. Something that will release you from your misery."

That was the final step, most likely.

* * *

The day slipped by and soon enough I was tucked into bed. The door was cracked open and I was left with my own thoughts. If I wanted to give Red the gift I wanted to, I needed practice.

You see, when you don't talk for _extremely_ long periods of times (such as months) your vocal cords don't work automatically. I don't know the fanatics. For example: when people go into comas they can't speak automatically when they wake up. TV shows pretty much lie to you in that aspect. But with me, it was a choice not to speak. Doctors would say it was trauma that led me to my inability to speak; they said that it was because of how I was raised. I don't think that's true. They can write it off as abuse and how I was taught all they want, but if that was the case, how would I have spoken in class?

I tried to hum. It shouldn't have been hard. But instead I sat up coughing. It _hurt_. A few moments later Red peeked into my room.

"Are you alright? You sound like you're dying . . . " I nodded. "Do you need water?" My coughing subsided and I nodded. Red gave a lazy smile. "Let's go then." He led me down the stairs quietly. I didn't really see why it was needed; I couldn't hear anything over the snoring of Red's mother. (Not to be rude. Red even commented on it.) I sat on the island, sipping water, watching Red eat vanilla ice cream out of a tub.

Red was shirtless. I mused that it was his house, but his muscles weren't even what my eyes were drawn to. It was a long, jagged scar that started at his left shoulder and stopped halfway down his stomach. It didn't take long for him to notice what I was staring at.

Swallowing another spoonful, he said, "I almost drowned when I was little. I was playing around a pond with my friends and I tripped. On the way down something caught on my shirt, ripped a giant hole in the fabric, and tore my skin up. My friends had to fish me out." He paused to take another bite. "I have a fear of water now. Don't have the faintest on how you swim."

I nodded in understanding. If I was cut open and half-drowned when I was little, I would never even go near water. Wait . . .

"Let's turn on the TV. _Harry Potter _is playing on ABC again."

That's how we spent the night.

* * *

I kept practicing with my voice. It was hard at first (and painful) but I managed. It was a week after Christmas, though, when I was able to make a sound that was similar to my voice. (Now that I think about it, my voice was probably going to sound different. It had been over a year.) Still, I practiced. I kept at it for a few more weeks. The hospital staff never heard me (or maybe they did, I don't know). But that didn't stop the grin on my face when Red came in.

I remember the day clearly: it was _cold_. Outside my window, snow fell down in giant clumps, clinging to everything. Red looked surprised but he held up another book: _The Deathly Hallows._ After an hour of reading, Red put the book down, rubbed his eyes, and smiled at me. "What's got you in a good mood?"

My smile grew bigger. He leaned forward.

"Yellow?"

I opened my mouth and uttered a single word:

"Red."

The book fell to the floor with a loud _clunk._ "Y-y-you! Did you just-?" I nodded eagerly. Red stood up, beaming proudly, and hugged me.

He replied, "I knew you could do it." It all clicked into place, then. That it was always possible to find a light in something very, very dark.

* * *

HOPE:

_Noun_

**1)** a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.

**2) **_**archaic **_a feeling of trust.

_Verb_

**1) **want something to happen or be the case.

* * *

**Originally, my central basis for this story was, indeed, a prompt I saw on tumblr. After I started to write though, I began to rethink it. I stripped the prompt to the basics and rewrote it to incorperate the meaning of "hope". Hope-Hikari is a great person: she's my closest friend, she's always happy and cheerful, and does anything to make you smile again. Throughout our friendship I can only think of one time she was every deeply sad.**

**The idea of hope is something we as humans know, but never truly understand. We sometimes will just get the feeling of _Wow. I know this will get better_. At the same time, there are those of us that don't.**

**Yellow's personality was based off that alone. **

**Red, on the otherhand, had hardships in his life but he never truly did let it get to him as Yellow did. The difference was how they were raised. Due to friends I've been able to see that even in families where the income, family members, ect. are the same, They can be very, very different.**

**That's it for now~ bye!**


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